


A Very Saintly Christmas

by queenseamoose



Series: Saint, Sinner, Savior [3]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Family Drama, Minor Violence, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13153296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenseamoose/pseuds/queenseamoose
Summary: It's Christmas in Stilwater, and Abby's dreaded visit with her family goes horribly awry. Meanwhile, Jena and Troy grow closer, Aaron spends time with his family, work disrupts Brady and James' holiday, and Natalie grieves for her mother.





	1. A Very Saintly Christmas

Her Christmas Eve plans had involved a mug of hot chocolate and her favorite festive movies from childhood, but in a move straight out of the Dr. Seuss classic, Los Carnales made sure that didn’t happen. She’d been at the church—having only intended to stop by for a quick minute—when the news of the attack came, and even after all the lieutenants had been confirmed to be taken care of, she’d been out on the streets deep into the night, combing through every side street and alleyway just to be sure.

The clock above her stove displayed 3:47 when she finally stumbled through the door—barely two hours until she’d planned on leaving to drive across the city. There was blood on the sleeve of her jacket—not hers, upon closer examination, but by the time she’d scrubbed it out and showered, the alarm on her phone was going off.

She sat on the edge of her bed with heavy eyelids and the ache of exhaustion settling into her bones, internally weighing the pros and cons of dealing with Carol up close and personal for one day--or with a full blown nuclear meltdown from afar over the next several months. Or years, even. The thought of that caused a shudder to run through her, and she reluctantly hauled herself to her feet. Fine—she’d go ahead and get it over with.

Her irritability only magnified on the drive over, and she was cursing to herself under her breath as she pulled into a parking spot outside her mother’s apartment building. She sat in the car for a moment, steeling herself before climbing out and heading up the sidewalk. The sun was rising, but the bitter wind cut through the still-damp sleeve of her jacket. She shivered, urgently ringing the buzzer with gloved fingers, and interestingly enough, the door unlocked immediately. Had they been watching for her.?

Likewise, the apartment door was already open as she stepped into the hall, and there stood Gerald. She inwardly groaned, forcing a smile to her face as she walked up.

“Abby!” Why did he sound so chipper this early in the morning? “Merry Christmas!”

“Yeah, you too, Gerald.” He reached out as if to hug her, but she quickly slipped past him, ignoring his look of disappointment. “Where’s Mom?” she asked as she pried off her shoes, and a shadow crossed Gerald’s face.

“She’ll...be right out,” he said cautiously, and Abby frowned. Were they fighting?

“Right.” She shrugged out of her coat, then picked up the bag of presents, carting it over to the tree. “Please tell me that’s coffee I smell,” she groaned, and Gerald immediately perked up.

“Can I get you a cup?”

“ _Please._ ” She sagged onto the sofa, and Gerald chuckled as he headed into the kitchen.

“Late night?” he called over the clamor of the cupboard doors, and Abby bit the inside of her lip.

“You could say that.”

“Carol!” She twisted around at his response to see Carol entering the room, dressed in a deep green bathrobe. “Carol look, Abby’s here!”

“I see that.” Carol’s tone was icy as she settled on her favorite chair in the corner, and Abby’s eyes narrowed. _For fucks sake Mom, I_ just _got here,_ she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mom,” she said instead, wincing as the words came out dripping heavy with sarcasm. But Carol barely raised an eyebrow.

“Merry Christmas, Abigail,” she said without looking at her. Luckily, Gerald chose to arrive at that moment with the coffee, and she gratefully accepted it, wrapping her hands around the mug. Maybe she should have stayed home—she’d never seen Carol this angry before, at least not before she’d had a chance to piss her off. Was this still about their Thanksgiving fight?

“So are we doing presents or what?” she asked as Gerald settled into the chair beside Carol’s. But Carol only stared icily ahead, Gerald watching her nervously. Abby rolled her eyes. “All right, if that’s the way we’re doing things,” she sighed, setting her mug aside to pull the bag she’d brought closer.

“Gerald,” she said, reading the name she’d scrawled on the topmost one. “Here you go, Ger.”

“Oh, thanks Abby, this is terrific!” He hadn’t even opened it yet, she noted, but instead of commenting, she took another sip of coffee. No sense in making this any worse than it needed to be. “Say, this is really great!”

He’d finally torn it open and was lifting a striped sweater out of the box. “Yeah, I figured you’d like it.” She allowed herself to crack a smile, tugging at the hem of her own sweater. “We’ve got the same taste in clothes."

His eyes widened and he let out a hearty laugh. “We do!” He continued to guffaw, and Abby squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t that funny.

“All right, who’s next!” Gerald sprang up from his chair and bustled over to the tree. “Carol, do you want to open one? Honey?”

“Forget it Gerald, she’s in one of her moods,” Abby interrupted. “I’ll go next, where’s mine?”

“All right, that’s enough! Abigail…” Carol abruptly stood up from her chair, throwing her hands up in the air. “I can’t do this. Not a minute longer.”

“Oh my god Mom, _what_ are you talking about?” Despite herself, Abby felt a cold knot of dread forming in her stomach. Carol’s lips were tightly pursed, a cold fury burning in her eyes.

“Debbie James was in Cecil Park the other week,” she began through gritted teeth, “and she said she saw _you_ there. She said she saw you,” Carol began to pace back in forth of the windows, “ _drag_ some poor man out of his car and _kick him in the head._ ”

Abby’s heart had dropped straight into her stomach. Nothing could have prepared her for this. “Mom,” she began desperately, but Carol wasn’t done yet.

“She also said you were with a bunch of _hooligans_ dressed head to toe in purple—what the _fuck_ Abigail, are you in some kind of gang?”

Abby’s blood was racing, her hands curling into fists. “Mom, that ‘poor man’ was involved in Los Carnales! And what does it matter anyhow? It’s none of your business!”

“It is my business!” Carol was shouting now. “You drop out of school, you quit your job, and  now you’re running through the streets assaulting strangers?”

“I’m cleaning up this city!” she shouted back. “Someone’s gotta do it!”

“These are the same gangs that killed your father, how _stupid_ can you be?” Carol snarled, and Abby rose to her feet as well.

“Oh my god, can we leave Dad out of it for once? Better yet, can we stop pretending he was some innocent bystander? He was just as bad! If not worse!” Carol’s face was turning bright red.

“Your father made some mistakes, yes, but he was a public servant and a _hero_. And how _dare_ you talk about him like that? Today of all days?”

“Mom, Dad was part of Los Carnales!” Her throat was going scratchy from screaming. “And you should know that, you took the fucking money and kept quiet! It’s how we could afford this whole damn apartment!”

For a moment, Carol’s face showed genuine confusion. “Abigail, we took over the apartment after Grandma moved to Florida!”

“What about taxes?” Abby shot back. “What about upkeep? What about the fucking mortgage?”

“You are throwing around some _serious_ accusations, Abigail.” Carol’s voice had gone icy quiet, her clenched fists trembling at her sides. “And do I need to remind you that you _really_ don’t have the moral high ground here? Every time you manage to ruin your life I think ‘this is it, she’s finally learned her lesson.’ But you never do! You just find _yet another_ colossal way to fuck up, and I am _sick_ , Abigail, I am so sick and tired of being a part of it.” She shook her head. “What am I supposed to do with you now?”

From the other chair in the room came a nervous cough. “Carol, honey, maybe we should--”

“Shut up, Gerald,” Carol snapped without turning around. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Actually, Mom, _you_ shut up.” She didn’t remember when she’d started crying, but the tears were dripping down her face now. “I don’t care what you think about me, but you didn’t have to ruin Christmas!”

“Abigail!” She only caught a glimpse of Carol’s stunned expression before the tree needles blocked her vision. “Abigail, put the tree down! Put it down!”

“No!” She was already halfway across the room, and she heard a crash as the end knocked into a lamp. “I’m taking it with me, you don’t deserve it!”

“ _Abigail!_ ” She’d made it to the door, but as she wrestled it open, the base of the stand caught on something and it was yanked from her grasp, and there was the crunch of glass as several ornaments broke. As she grabbed for her coat, she met Carol’s murderous gaze--and as she dug her feet into her shoes, she turned and fled from the building.

* * *

 The liquor store around the corner from her was mercifully open, and she held two fifths of whiskey clutched under her coat as she marched along the highway. The wind had picked up, knifing through her as she sat by the edge of the pier, but she quickly unscrewed the first bottle, and the gulp she took from it spread through her like fire. It wasn’t the same thing as actual warmth, but it was close enough, and she quickly followed it with several others.

And while it didn’t exactly soothe her, the sting of Carol’s words dulled ever so slightly. This day had always been coming, she bitterly realized, she just hadn’t wanted to face it. And so she hadn’t prepared for it. The past twenty-one years should have been preparation enough, but while Carol’s basic arguments never changed, they just got meaner as the years went by.

What was she even doing with the Saints? And where had all her whiskey gone?

It was dark now, she suddenly realized. Had she drank a whole bottle? She only had one--but her hand was bleeding.

“Abby?” She turned at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Troy!” She hauled herself to her feet, blinking furiously as she tried to focus, but she stumbled anyway, and only the handful of her jacket he caught kept her from sprawling face first on the concrete. “Troy Bradshaw. My friend Troy. Did you know you’re my favorite Saint?”

“The fuck did you do to your hand?” he was asking. “You need stitches or something?”

“I think it looks worse than it is.” She didn’t recognize the woman’s voice, but someone else had grabbed her hand, inspecting the wound. “Can we get her home or something? It’s way too fucking cold out here.”

Troy sighed. “Yeah, she doesn’t live far. Help me get her to the car.”

“Do you know how to work the DVR?” she asked as they hauled her along the pier. “I missed Frosty last night.” She was in a car, although she had no idea how she’d gotten there. “Fuckin Carnales…”

And then she was in her bed, where she should have been twenty-four hours ago. But would it have made any difference? Fucking Debbie James couldn’t keep her fucking mouth shut, and even with a full night’s sleep, she doubted she would have been able to talk Carol down. “Merry Christmas, Abby,” she muttered to herself as she turned to face the wall. Fuckin Carnales indeed.


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as just Abby's story, but of course I had to cover what my Salted Earth characters were up to at this point.

The last place Jena had expected to spend Christmas night was on the couch in a stranger’s apartment. When Troy had first seen the distant figure on the end of the pier, his first fear had been that they were about to jump--but she’d turned out to be a Saint. And she seemed to be alright, aside from her drunken state and a shallow cut on her hand from a broken bottle.

Troy had cleaned out the cut and wrapped it with gauze found in the bathroom cabinet after they’d arrived at the girl’s apartment--in a few days, it’d be fine. And she’d have nasty hangover when she woke up, but for now, she was sleeping it off--but Jena had suggested they stay a while just to be sure. And so here they were.

They’d settled on opposite ends of the couch, but she’d casually slung her legs across his lap. And while he hadn’t protested, he seemed painfully oblivious. She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye as he laughed at a joke on the TV, and she wondered--for about the hundredth time that evening alone--if she was horribly misreading things.

The ringing of her phone jostled her from her thoughts, and she saw Aaron’s number flash up on the screen as she flipped it open and lifted it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey Jena!” Judging from the background sounds, he was in a moving vehicle. “You get things taken care of yet?”

“Just about. I think so, at least.” Abby had been quiet for a while, and last they’d checked on her, she was sleeping peacefully. “Where are you?”

“Taking my brother home. We’re done at my folks’, so I’m gonna go get Brady and James’ shift is supposed to be ending--actually, Carlos? Which is closer to your place?” She couldn’t make out the words, but she picked up on a reply in the background. “Okay, so I’m dropping off Carlos, then picking up James, and then Brady if he’s not home by then. And by the way, he was _mad_ when I talked to him earlier, so that’s all we’re gonna hear about tonight. Just letting you know.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” she sighed. Brady’s boss had always seemed more demanding than most--but asking him to go deal with a break-in on Christmas day was on another level entirely. “I should be out of here soon then I’ve got to go get Kyle.”

“All right, see you at home?”

“Yep. Bye, Aaron.” As she snapped her phone shut, she turned to see Troy watching at her

“Do we need to head out?” he asked.

“Probably.” She wandered in the direction of the bedroom, glancing in on Abby.

“All right.” Troy rose to his feet, and wandered over to turn off the TV. “Am I taking you to this sitter’s?”

Jena shook her head. “No, just back to the church. His carseat’s in my van.”

“Ah. Right.” He flicked off the light switch, locking the door and pulling it shut behind them as Jena wandered through the foyer of the building.

“Troy,” she said as she opened the door, “look.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s snowing.” She pointed at the tiny flakes swirling in the glow of the streetlight as they stepped outside.

“We’re all gonna be sick of it within a month,” he remarked as he followed her down the sidewalk, laughing when she made a face at him over her shoulder. “But I guess it’s not so bad now.”

They’d reached the car, and she turned to him, but whatever snarky comeback she’d been preparing died on her lips when she saw his face. When he looked at her like that...how could she possibly think it was all in her head?

She didn’t know who moved toward who first, but she clung to him as they kissed, breathing in the cold winter air and the smell of his cigarettes. And there was a desperation in the way he clung to her, as if he couldn’t bear to ever let her go.

He moaned into her neck, and she pulled him closer. She loved him, she thought to herself. It was a silly, giddy thought--and one she _definitely_ planned on keeping to herself--but it was the truth. An unfamiliar feeling, but a welcome one. And for the first time in a while, she felt hopeful: for her son, for the Saints, and for seeing what her future would look like with Troy in it.

* * *

 In the only darkened house on the street, Natalie lay across her bed, her algebra book still open beside her. Finals were only weeks away, and provided all went well, she’d officially be a junior once they were over. She’d be back in classes with her friends, and with a few summer school sessions, she could even graduate on time, according to her guidance counselor. But it just kept getting harder to care.

She’d stopped crying a while ago, her tears dried in salty tracks down her cheeks, but as she stared at the framed photograph on her nightstand, she felt as though she was going to start all over again. It’d been taken the summer before last, and her mother looked so _happy_ \--vibrant and full of life. Hard to believe that less than a year later, she’d be gone. And that unbeknownst to them at the time, the following Christmas had been her last.

Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up to see a message from Chad. _Family’s leaving. I can come over now._

_No_ , she quickly typed back. _My stepdad’s here_. The garage was empty, and likely would be for the rest of the week--but he didn’t need to know that.

_So come over tomorrow. The family’s going to a Sharks game. I’ll tell them I’m sick._

_He’ll never let me. And I have to study._ The latter was true, at least--she’d already wasted several study days.

To her relief, Chad didn’t reply, and she reached out to turn her lamp off before burrowing deeper under her covers. It was freezing in here, but she wasn’t about to go back downstairs to adjust the thermostat. _I miss you, Mom_. More every day, even though guidance counselor said time would heal. And slowly, she drifted off into the nightmare-filled land of her sleep.


End file.
